The Girl on the Bridge
by Aurorajaye
Summary: The girl on the bridge didn't look like anyone Gendry knew or cared about...until she avoided a collision using a waterdancer move. The next thing Gendry knew, he was following her right back into trouble.
1. Chapter 1

Gendry wasn't sure what it was about the girl on the bridge that caught his attention. She was pretty enough, but not so pretty that she should have stood out from all the girls in the marketplace—at least until a man carrying a stack of lumber suddenly turned in her path. She should have been smacked with the lumber and knocked to the river below. Instead, she'd ducked and skittered to the side, graceful as a cat, and only he had noticed.

He couldn't stop himself from surging through the crowd and laying a hand on her arm. The girl whirled. The hair was too dark, and the face too round. The eyes that looked back at him were small and brown, not large and gray. But if he wasn't mistaken, he'd seen surprise flicker through them for a blink. Gendry remembered, vaguely, a changeable man with a coin.

The memory was strangely foggy—something he'd cast from his mind because he'd not been able to understand it. But since then he'd learned that more was possible in this world than most mortals had ever dreamed of. In the taverns, men and women gossiped about the return of dragons and, with them, the return of magic. More things were possible than had been.

The girl ducked her head, dipped her ankles and blushed. "Ser?"

 _It's not her,_ he thought, suddenly embarrassed. _But the way she moved…_ Suddenly, he was knocked into her by a bustling woman carrying a basket of beets. As he inhaled, he knew the scent to the marrow of his bones. He felt that he was going mad. "Sorry, M'lady."

"My Lady? I'm not a lady!" She softened the exclamation with another head-duck, another blush.

"So sorry, miss. It's just that you remind me of a high-born girl I used to know."

"How so?"

"The way you move, more than anything."

Her left eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly for the briefest moment. "You really oughtn't comment on the movement of girls you don't know. Now if you'll excuse me, I must be going." As she turned away, her cloak opened a bit and he spied the blade hanging, sheathed, from her waist.

"It you don't want people to know who you are, you shouldn't carry Needle."

She turned to look at him in confusion. "What? Needles? I'm no seamstress."

"Oh, brava." he said, smiling. "Not even a flicker that time. You're doing better."

"Better at what? Please do leave me alone, ser. I'm but a maid who wishes to be left alone."

"Well, at least you're a maid, now. That's progress."

She looked so confused before walking away that he briefly doubted his conviction, but something in him knew, as he had so long ago: he was supposed to protect her.

"Why are you here?" he asked, still following her.

"I'm just trying to buy some bread," the girl proclaimed, exasperated.

"Not here in the market! Here in King's Landing," he hissed. "It's a dangerous time to be here. Cersea Lannister is in power and fighting Daenerys Targaerean for the throne. Trade routes are shut down. We'll be lucky if we don't all starve."

"This is my home. Where would I go?"

"Wherever the hell you've been, 'Arry!" He'd just barely stopped himself from calling her Arya. She stopped, sighed and turned to face him.

"God, you're relentless," she grumbled, giving him a hard shove in the chest. He nearly fell off the bridge. "For years, I've been no one." She sighed. "Needle was the only thing I couldn't leave behind."

"Not my fault you did a Bravosi Water Dancer move instead of falling off the bridge like any normal person would have. Now what did you do to your face?"


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN: If you combine the stats for all my stories, I just got my 700th "favorite"! That is amazing, and I feel truly honored. Thank you for all the reviews, as well. Surprising fact: I posted 2 Game of Thrones fics on the same day and thought this one would be more popular. NOPE! Turns out, people want to read more about Sansa and Tyrion. Well, if I come up with more to say about them, you all will be the first to know! Please review! Who knows, maybe there aren't more Tyrion/Sansa fans...maybe they're just noisier!**_

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Arya took Gendry's hand and gazed up at him adoringly. Somehow he knew it as not Arya looking up at him but the girl she was pretending to be. To others, they looked like a love-dazed couple traipsing through the streets, but she was deftly guiding them while avoiding any chance of being noticed or followed. She eventually pulled him into a Fleabottom flat, and the lovesick look dropped from her face instantly.

"Home sweet home," Gendry muttered, and he looked around the tiny, decrepit room, knowing nonetheless that she was incredibly lucky to have a place to herself. Not many did in this neighborhood. "Arya, h…"

Whatever he was about to say escaped him as she reached up and seemed to pull the other girl's face away, and suddenly that face was a limp, dead mask in her hands. She carefully draped it over a domed form to help it keep its shape. Her real face was back. She didn't look much different from when he'd last seen her years ago. She was a bit taller, her face a bit sharper and her body a bit rounder. Arya looked at Gendry and smiled. It really was Arya smiling at him now.

Gendry was a taller, too. His chest was broader. His arms had evened out from all the rowing. (When he'd been a blacksmith, he'd born the tell-tale sign of a hammering arm far more muscled than the arm that held the tongs.) His hair was as messy as ever, with black strands falling over his sharp blue eyes.

"Remember Jaqen? The man who saved us a Harrenhall?" Arya began.

"He…he could change his face."

"I was almost to my mother and my brother, Gendry. They were at the wedding, but before I could get to them…"

"You were at the Red Wedding?"

Pain flickered across Arya's face, followed by a hard look. "My family was gone, so I took the coin Jaquen gave me and used it to take the first ship I found to Bravos. I went to the house of Black and White and learned…well, I learned to do this," she said.

"You should have stayed in Bravos," he said in a harsh whisper, "If Cersei Lannister learns you're alive…"

Arya laughed a mirthless laugh. "No one is safe anywhere. And I could say the same to you." She leaned forward until her lips were close to his ear. "You're the last living Baratheon. You have a better claim to the throne than she does."

"No, I'm not, and no, I don't. We can't talk about this. Not ever." He turned away.

"Wait," she said. "Don't go!" Gendry didn't like upsetting her, but he was also glad to see the chilling blankness driven from her face.

He turned back to face her. "I wasn't going anywhere…m'lady." He grinned mischievously. She gave him several playful jabs until grabbed her tiny, strong body, pinning her arms at her sides. The hold relaxed to a hug, an Gendry noticed they were rocking back and forth like a tiny boat on a peaceful ocean. Arya pulled her arms loose. For a bit, they hung at her sides. Then she looped them around his waist.

"I thought I would never see you again," Arya said, her voice just the same after all these years. "I thought I'd never see anyone I…" She couldn't force the words past the hot lump in her throat.

"But you did, Arya. And we'll get you to your family."

"My family?"

She looked up at him. Arya pulled away, realizing that she wasn't a little girl anymore. She was a woman embracing a man she hadn't seen in years.

"You don't know?" Gendry asked.

"I've been focused on other things." Namely her list. She had only been able to believe in her list. She hadn't allowed herself to believe that her family might still be out there…that her home might be her home again. She had heard a few things when she first reached Westeros: That Jon Snow led the Night's Watch. That Jon Snow was dead. That her sister—or someone pretending to be her sister—was married to the new Lord of Winterfell, a man said to be so evil that Arya hoped the girl was an imposter and not Sansa.

Arya gestured for him to sit and put a kettle on the fire before grabbing them bread and cheese from the bag of provisions she'd bought at the market. She stoked the fire while he talked, seated on a bench at her tiny table.

"The trade routes are closed, yet information continues to flow. Your brother, Jon, left the Night's Watch and has retaken Winterfell. He's been declared King of the North. " Arya smiled at that. "Your sister, Sansa, is there with him, serving as Lady of the house."

"Now SHE was meant to be a lady," Arya said.

Gendry laughed, then sobered before adding, "I'm sorry to tell you, but Rickon was killed by Ramsey Bolton, who died in the battle to retake your family's holdings…or just after. Rumor has it, your brother bound him and fed him alive to a direwolf."

The distant look was back. "I can't imagine Jon feeding a bound man to Ghost…not even someone who killed Rickon. What…what about Bran?"

"No one seems to know what happened to Bran. For all we know, he's still out there somewhere. Like you."

The blank look was replaced with hope. "Like Nymeria"

They talked for many hours about the places they'd been and the things that had happened since they last parted. In Gendry's mind all these years, when picturing Arya, she'd remained a fierce little girl. She was still little, but she was a woman now, and a dangerous woman at that. She told him of each person she'd scratched from her list. Only for The Hound did she show a flicker of remorse, and her countenance as she described dispatching Walder Frey and his kin sent a spike of fear through Gendry. Arya still needed him, but for very different reasons.

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 ** _AN: Reviews are such a positive motivator. I'd appreciate if you'd leave me one. Thanks! Special thanks to_** Lightingmist95, **_who helped me fix a name mixup!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_AN: Thanks, again, to_** Lightingmist95, **_who helped me fix a name mixup!_**

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Gendry stoked the fire, and they spread their bedrolls on the floor. The room was so small that the edges of their blanket-pallets touched. When they'd both lain down, Gendry extended a blanket over the two of them. Arya raised an eyebrow. He'd never taken much notice of a woman's eyebrows before, but hers were impressively bold.

Gendry held up his hands defensively and said with mock innocence, "It'll be warmer!"

"Yes, I'm sure you'd do the same if it were Hot Pie you'd run into in the market," Arya said with a smirk, then turned onto her right side, as did Gendry. "Do you…do you really think I could get back to my family?"

He moved closer to her so that he could whisper in her ear. Even here, in a tiny shack in Fleabottom, sometimes it felt like the walls had ears. "We could go tomorrow. But only if you give up on your plan to kill the Mountain and the Queen."

She burst into tears, and Gendry pulled her close. Arya turned to him and cried into his chest. For a long time, her list had been all Arya had. Then, for a while, she'd tried to forget. Who was Arya without her family, without Nymeria, without her list? No one. She had tried so hard to be no one. But you can't be no one when you can't give up your sword. You can't be no one when most nights you are a great wolf, building a pack and running the forests of the North.

When she had stopped being no one, she'd taken up her list again, and crossing Walder Frey off had felt like justice. She had felt peace and bliss when her blade freed his blood.

Her father had always said that the man who passed the sentence should swing the sword, but when her father swung the sword, he always looked so sad after. Arya wondered whether something was wrong with her, whether she was broken or evil. Could she really survive without the thrill of scratching people off her list? She sobbed. Gendry stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, which startled her. She sniffled and looked up at him incredulously.

Gendry laughed. "Too forward of me? Apologies, m'lady."

She was on Gendry in a flash and pinned him. "I'm not a lady!"

Gendry knew he was strong enough to throw her off or roll them and pin her back. On the other hand, he knew that she probably had some moves that would make him greatly regret it if he threw her off or pinned her.

"But if I go back, I will be," she said. She released his arms and swiped away her tears but sat up still straddling Gendry. "It's not just that I won't be allowed to fight or hunt— that I'll be expected to sew and wear pretty dresses. I'm not a little girl anymore, and Jon will need to build alliances."

"Ah," Gendry said. Being noble meant having power over your vassals, but your people had certain freedoms that you did not. Arya looked a bit embarrassed and slid off of Gendry, but stayed close, whispering to him.

"My father and Robert Baratheon were friends. Robert Baratheon knew my father was respected in the North, so he wanted two things: to have my father as his advisor and to marry my sister to Joffrey to make the alliance of our families secure. But now you're the last Barratheon."

"The Barratheons are all gone, and just about everyone who knows about me is gone, too. There's no reason I would want…"

"None?" She looked hurt.

 _Why did she look hurt?_ "I was meant to make swords, not sit on a throne of 'em."

"But what if you could be…what if you could be Lord of Storm's End?"

Finally, he understood. Gendry whispered, "So we would go north to your family and say, 'This is Gendry, Robert Baratheon's bastard.' They would not only welcome me, but we'd take your brother's forces and, what, march south of King's Landing to overtake the Queen's men at Storm's End?"

"You think my brother, _Jon Snow,_ wouldn't welcome you because you're base-born? And we don't have to take Storm's End. Storm's End is not the point."

Gendry smirked. "And what is the point?"

"Are you married? Bethrothed? In love?" She said the last phrase with a dismissive eyeroll.

Gendry chuckled. "No."

"I can't go back unmarried, Gendry. Even if you don't have holdings, if you have noble blood…I asked you once to be my family. You said I wouldn't be your family, I'd be your lady. But this way it could be both, Gendry. Please? It would even be better than if you had Storms End, because this way we can stay in the North. We'll have the alliance of two important families and be in Winterfell, too! Maybe we could even find Nymeria. I know she's wild now—a direwolf should be wild—but just to see her…oh, Gendry, she's so beautiful."

"You're proposing _marriage_? Arya, you haven't seen me in years! How do you know you even want…"

"You were my friend. Have you changed that much? Most noble girls don't get a say when their parents arrange a betrothal. I could be a good wife! Well, probably not, but…"

It suddenly occurred to Arya that she had no idea what Gendry wanted in life. She didn't even know why he was in King's Landing.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair of me to ask. It just seemed like a perfect solution. Never mind. Why are you here in King's Landing? Maybe I'm meant to help with your plan, not the other way 'round."

The truth was, Gendry had come back to Fleabottom, his childhood neighborhood, because he hadn't known where else to go. Gendry had thought he'd found a home with the Brotherhood Without Borders until they'd sold him to the Red Woman. He'd barely escaped with his life. He'd rowed his boat to freedom, but each place he tried to settle felt wrong. Arya was right: No one was safe anywhere. So he'd come back looking for home. Maybe he could go back to blacksmithing, marry a comely girl, have a few children. But then he'd seen her: the girl on the bridge: the girl sure to bring him danger and pain. And he'd run to her, not away.

"Honestly, 'Arry? I like your plan better."

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 _ **AN: Reviews are such a positive motivator. I'd appreciate if you'd leave me one. Thanks!**_


	4. Chapter 4

"We're going the wrong way," Arya said.

Gendry laughed. Arya was not used to being around someone who laughed so much. Her family had been a serious lot, especially her father and Jon, her favorite brother. In Bravos, she'd seen her fare share of mirth in the crowds at the theater or among the lechers in the taverns, but Gendry's laugh was different. Even when life was hard, he seemed to find the good in it.

"Not at all, bride." She rolled her eyes as he continued, "Due to a tragic 'accidental' wildfire accident, there isn't a church and barely a clergyman left in the city. Even if we _could_ find a church and a holy man, it's not like we could even speak our true names in the vows. But you were raised with the Old Gods of the North…"

"And with the Old Gods, you don't need clergy. Just to pledge yourself in a Godswood, and…"

"Yes, and…" Gendry said with an eyebrow waggle. "It's not too late to change your mind."

"There is another option," Arya said. "I thought of it on our walk here."

 _Yet another reason for this walk South to the nearest Godswood,_ Gendry thought. _Time to think it through and be sure._ "And what's that, 'Arry?"

"We could go north, to Winterfell. You could be Gendry Rivers, a blacksmith. And I could be her," Arya said, gesturing to the bag that hung at her waist. "We could pledge fealty to my brother. You would make swords and horseshoes and I…"

"And you would be content to be your brother's vassal? To see your family, but never have them know you? To wear another woman's face the rest of your life? You would be content to be the wife of some commoner?"

"Maybe…if it was the right one," she said.

"I'm sorry, 'Arry, but I can't see you content with just cooking and cleaning and raising a passel of brats." He remembered her words the night before: _"_ _A direwolf should be wild."_

"What if I taught them to fight? I could be Master of Swords and teach all the Stark children to fight like a Water Dancer."

"And no one would suspect a thing," he teased.

They arrived at the Godswood, a collection of elm, alder and black cottonwood trees overlooking the Blackwater Rush.

"This is different from the Godswoods of the North," Arya said, but nonetheless she was comforted to be surrounded by trees At the Godswood's center, Arya and Gendry found the heart tree. It wasn't a weirwood, with white bark and blood-red leaves but a great oak, its limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines. "It is said that no man can tell a lie in front of a heart tree, as the Old Gods know when men are lying. Are you sure you want to do this?"

They dropped their packs containing their meager possessions on the ground.

"I swear by the gods old and new: yes," Gendry said.

"Why?"

"Because if I don't, you'll take over the Iron Throne, and Westeros is not ready for the wrath of Queen Arya."

Arya laughed, but it was not entirely a joke.

"Alright, what do we do?" Gendry asked.

"According to Old Nan's stories, you just fast your hands and promise before the heart tree."

Gendry took a clean handkerchief from his pocket. They joined hands and managed to wrap the cloth around, forming a knot that Gendry pulled closed with his teeth.

"I, Arya Stark promise you, Gendry Baratheon, that I will be your family—wife and friend. I will protect you and honor you all of my days."

Gendry liked the simplicity of her vows in contrast to the big showy weddings in the Cathedrals of the Seven Gods.

"I, Gendry Baratheon…" the words felt strange but not untrue, "promise you, Arya Stark, that I will be your family—husband and friend. I will protect you and honor you all of my days."

"See," Arya said, "I told you you were really a Baratheon! You can't lie before a heart tree."

Gendry looked at the carved face. "Or what, it eats me?"

Arya laughed. When had she last laughed so much? She saw herself as a little girl, pulling pranks on Sansa, dueling with her brothers or beating Bran at archery. "Actually, I have no idea. Maybe you just fall down dead."

"It would have been considerate to warn me that was a possibility _before_ the vows."

"I told you not to lie. So…" she raised their joined hands, still awkwardly tied. "should we…"

"You're forgetting something," Gendry teased. "The kiss."

"Yes. Right," Arya said, giving him a chaste peck on the lips before bringing their hands up to her own mouth. She loosened the knot with her teeth and pulled her hand free. "Now lets get out of here. I don't like being this close to the castle."

His bride grabbed her pack and took off at a quick clip, leaving her bemused groom in her wake.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Turns out, even more people tried to help with the name snafu, but their comments were awaiting moderation. Thanks, everybody, for the assistance, the reads, the follows, favorites and reviews!_

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They walked all night. Arya wanted to put as much ground as possible between them and the Red Keep. She couldn't wait until they were free of King's Landing. Arya had no intention of seeking any kind of help at Riverrun. Seven Hells, she wasn't even sure who held it now. Nonetheless, she knew she would feel better in her mother's homeland and better still once she reached The North. The roads were closed in the South and patrolled by soldiers, so they would walk in the forests to the Trident, then follow the Green Fork of the river North. Once it was safe, they could take the King's Road to Winterfell. They would avoid settlements and other travelers, hidden by the woods when possible. Arya would disguise herself when there was nowhere to hide. She would do the hunting, and he would build the fires and cook.

For once in Arya's life, a plan seemed to be working. She was a decent hunter, and Gendry was a decent cook. They had just enough food to eat. They walked by night and slept by day. Few people took note of the couple. 

Sleeping during the day had one main disadvantage for Arya. When she slept at night, she often dreamt she was Nymeria: breeding, birthing, hunting or fighting, but most often running through the forests of The North with her pack. In her dreams she felt strong and free. Not safe, but direwolves do not desire safety. They desire life.

When she slept in the day, she did not dream as the wolf. Her sleep was a hollow that nightmares rushed to fill. She dreamed of Joffrey, lopping off her father's head. Her brother Robb atop a horse, his head replaced with that of his direwolf. Her brother Bran consumed by the roots of a tree. Herself, a monster, slitting throats, leaving men for dead, chopping bodies and baking them into a pie. Her mother a dead thing, pointing at her with a gray hand of judgment.

She would waken with a start, disoriented by the glare of the mid-day sun. Her husband rarely roused. She shook her head and mused that it was a good thing she knew her way around a sword. Good, too, that he muscular enough that strangers didn't challenge him. Otherwise, he wouldn't last long. After all, winter was here. After a nightmare, she would press her ear to his chest. She would listen to his breath and his heartbeat and try to make hers match. Maybe that was the key to being someone else: not the killer Arya Stark, but peaceful, happy Arya Baratheon.

When the sun set and they had not yet risen, Gendry would touch her and kiss her, long and deep. She would pull him close, rubbing her body against his. Part of her wished he would just do it, _just be with her already._ Arya wondered whether he thought he was protecting her delicate, high-born sensibilities.

She may have been born a noble girl, but she'd grown up selling mussels in the brothels of Bravos. She knew that some men were cruel and did awful things in bed and that some were quite boring, but that others did things that made the doxies smile and argue over a customer, even though he was not the richest man in the room. She suspected Gendry was the third type, for she loved his strong hands on her skin and his mouth against hers.

When she asked him about it, he'd laughed, which had made fire blaze in her eyes. "I just want to get to know each other better first," he said. "We have plenty of time, don't we? Besides, it's not you I'm protecting. It's me! _I'm_ the one married to a faceless assassin. _You_ only have to deal with a blacksmith!"

Arya shoved him so hard that he nearly fell on his arse. "I'm not an assassin!"

"No?"

She thought about all the things she done. She wasn't ashamed of killing the men she'd killed, but she feared the joy it had given her. That wasn't who she wanted to be—not in Gendry's eyes and not in the eyes of her family. "No. Not anymore."

"Glad to hear it, 'Arry!" Gendry proclaimed and swept her off her feet. Generally, she detested being lifted because it made her feel too small and powerless. In this case, though, it just made her laugh to be twirled in the air. He kissed her deep, his hands running down her moonlit body. She dug her nails into his back, pulling him closer and caught his lip between her teeth before letting it gently pull free. He sucked in his breath at the sensation and whispered, "Gentle, Nymeria."

She pulled away. "Why did you say that?" She had never told Gendry of the dreams—never told anyone of the dreams. She wondered if any of her siblings had dreamt through the eyes of their wolves.

"Don't hurt me, 'Arry!" he pleaded with his hands up in supplication. "Sometimes you seem so wild and free…just as I imagine your direwolf. Not one to be tamed or domesticated."

She smiled. "Then I like it. Here," she said, handing him her pack. "I need to run a bit. I'm a wild thing, you understand." And with that she was gone.

" 'Arry? You are coming back, right?"

His wife howled, then laughed in the distance.

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 _AN: More reviews, please! They've been quite helpful!_


	6. Chapter 6

The runs had started as a joke, but Arya soon found they did her good. She could feel Nymeria again, as though the wolf were seeing through her eyes instead of the reverse. She would be running and catch the slightest sight or scent and drop to her haunches. Then she would kill the creature, simply, with an arrow, a spear or even just a blade in her hand. And when Arya and Gendry bedded down for the day, she slept deeply enough not to dream—or if she dreamt, she was not troubled by it.

Each day, she would suddenly hand her husband her pack and kiss him. He would say, "Goodbye, wild lady," or "Goodbye, Nymeria," And with a wink she was gone. She would return further down the line with her prey in hand.

Not only were she and Gendry eating well, but they had pelts and extra meat that they sold in villages under false names: Jasyn and Mercy Rivers, Rickard and Lyssa, Robin and Merry. Everyone praised "Jasyn" (or whatever Gendry's name that day) for his skill at hunting, and "Mercy" let them, as it was often valuable to be underestimated. The coin allowed them to hitch a few rides in wagons, bringing them more swiftly North until they were finally past the Twins. Then they took to the forest again to cross the closed border, past the river's end, past Greywater Watch. They were well and truly in The North.

It was colder here. Arya knew Gendry was not accustomed to the cold and resolved to buy them some warmer gear, as neither of them knew how to tan skins. Yes, it was colder, but Arya was more at ease, for if it was truly her siblings reigning at Winterfell, then she had escaped Lannister holdings and was back in her brother's kingdom. When Arya and her family had left The North, it had been all she'd known. She hadn't known it had suited her, or that she had loved it. These were facts she was realizing only now.

Early one night, Arya walked out of the woods to her husband, who was carrying their packs down the road. He tried not to look disappointed that she was empty-handed. She laughed. "Were you hoping I wouldn't come back?"

"No…no, I was hoping you might have killed something we could sell." His teeth chattered. "I was hoping to buy an extra blanket or a coat or, Gods, a night at an inn!"

She smiled. "I have something better."

"Better than a night at an inn?" She led him off the road to the body of a magnificent stag. "By The Seven, it's huge!"

"Big enough for a coat AND a night at an inn! I tried to get it as close to town as possible before I killed it," Arya said. "Now you'll have to do your part." Together, they managed to cut and tie some branches into a litter, drag the creature onto the structure, then pull it over the thin sheet of snow to the village. They arrived sweating.

"Well, my teeth aren't chattering," Gendry said, his chest heaving. The stag was the most impressive anyone in Moat Cailin had seen in years. They sold the antlers, meat and pelt and gained enough coin for warmer clothes, dinner, and a night at the Two Hawks Inn.

Within the hour, they happily tucked into their food, the first they'd had in far too long with any type of herbs or spices. They drank the local ale, which at first made Arya pull funny faces, but she grew accustomed to soon enough. Gendry looked at her over the top of his glass. They'd been on the road now for so many days that he'd lost count, yet he still hadn't grown accustomed to looking at her and seeing another face.

"I miss your face."

"Looks like someone's a bit too deep into his cups," she teased, rising to her feet and leading him by the hand. "I better take you to bed before you say something we'll both regret."

Back in the room, she bolted the door and slipped off her mask. They had procured a bit of hot water for bathing. They had never seen each other without small clothes before, but this was no time to tarry. They bathed as quickly as they could before the water cooled, then dried off before they could catch a chill. The couple lay wrapped in blankets before the fire, Arya's hair spread out to dry as quickly as possible.

"Gendry, you must be more careful."

"Really? I was just thinking I'm too careful."

With that, he kissed her, a kiss that led to more kisses and touches. Arya felt like a wild creature in his arms, thrashing and moaning, yet she felt no need to escape. There was nowhere else she wanted to be. She found that she'd been right about Gendry: he was the type of man the girls would have fought over. He was, for so many reasons, a man worth fighting for.

"That settles it," she said. "You really are my husband, now. You are stuck with me."

"To honor and protect all of my days," he said with a yawn. "You make good plans, 'Arry. Now go to sleep."

He pulled her close. She thought she would be unable to sleep, as they generally walked at night and slept all day, but the exhaustion of pulling the stag combined with the food in her stomach, the ale in her blood, the fire in the hearth and the delicious looseness of her limbs. She snuggled close to her husband and gave thanks to the Gods Old and New for giving her a man who knew when she needed to be wild and who might be able to draw her back when the wild threatened to overtake her. And they'd given her the skills to take care of her kind, gentle husband.

"To honor and protect all of my days," she replied and closed her eyes. Once again, she focused on his heartbeat and his breath and let them drift her off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: Thanks for the reviews, you guys! They're keeping my fingers flying on the keyboard!_

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The next morning, she awoke to her husband laughing. "What's so funny?"

"We pay for a bed—the best bed we've had access to in ages—and we sleep on some blankets on the floor!"

"Well," Arya said, sitting up and stretching, "at least we're less likely to get bedbugs."

"That's one way to look at it," he replied. "So, excellent-plan-maker, what is the plan?"

"I think you're going to like it," she said. "The innkeeper said we're 166 leagues from Winterfell. Near as I can figure, that a five-day journey by wagon. Horseback would be faster, but that's a lot more coin and would draw a lot more attention. Walking, it would be 5 weeks, at least. But the days are getting shorter, the nights colder and the snow deeper. I think we'll have to take wagons from here on out."

He smiled, then saw the look on her face. "Ah, which means no more running. No more hunting…"

"And day after day in that damn face."

He sympathized with her frustration, for he much preferred Arya's wide face and big, grey eyes to the face with the small, delicate features. "Who was she, anyway?"

"I don't know. A face I grabbed from the House of Black and White. I took one face and left another in return. I chose a pretty face. I thought it might be useful to be pretty on occasion."

"Arya, you _are_ pretty."

She wrinkled her nose as him. "You don't have to say that. I'm fine with being plain—came to terms with it long ago. My nickname growing up was "Arya Horse-face! And it probably saved my life. Sansa was pretty, but I doubt she could have passed as 'Arry."

He decided not to waste his breath arguing with Arya. Once she had decided on something, it was nearly impossible to change her mind.

"Well, 'Arry, what is the first step in our plan?"

"First, we go to the woods together. I try to take down something that will bring us enough coin for the rest of our journey. You help me haul it back to town. Then we head north on the first wagon out. We'll stay in inns when one is available and barns or stables when there's no inn. With each new wagon ride, a new set of names."

"And when we reach Winterfell?"

"I'll be Arya again."

"And how do we explain where we've been? How you got there without anyone in the kingdom seeing you even once?"

"It won't matter," she said. "Jon will see me and Needle and he'll know! You'll like Jon, Gendry, I know you will! And Sansa…well, she's…she's very proper."

He laughed, for she said it like an insult. "They might be very different now, you know. Life changes people. Hasn't it changed you?"

"Yes. But some people are the same no matter what. I can't imagine anything changing Jon. Sansa…yes, she might be different. The minute we got to King's Landing, she changed her clothes, her hair…she's…"

"Good at camouflage?"

Arya laughed. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but yes."

"Sounds like you might have more in common than you realize."

She seemed to consider that, then looked at the day dawning out the window. "Let's go. It's time to hunt."

"As you wish, Lady Nymeria."

His wife growled in response.

Arya had been hoping for smaller game than the day before: a doe, some rabbits, maybe a brace of quail. But at she ran through the forest, she caught scent of something larger that the wild would not let her ignore. She clambered up a tree and saw it enter the copse and stop just below her. It was an elk, majestic and broad-horned. She tried to let it pass but could not and dropped from the tree onto the creature's back. It reared, but she held on and drew her sharpest knife through its jugular.

Her face and arms were spattered with blood. There was no hiding who had make the kill on this hunting expedition. Arya and Gendry hadn't even tried to haul it themselves. Instead, they'd returned to town where they drew a few too many eyes for Arya's liking. The couple proceeded to the Two Hawks and acquired another bucket of hot water and quickly enjoyed the last true warmth they'd experience for the foreseeable future.

After cleaning up, they alerted the merchants of their kill: men who would use the bones and antlers for knife handles, sell the meat, and tan the hide. Six strong men all worked together to load the creature onto a wagon and take it back to town. Between the various merchants, Arya and Gendry received enough coin, in her estimation, to make it to Winterfell and with quite a bit to spare.

"Good job, 'Arry!" Gendry said.

"No," Arya replied. "I shouldn't have taken it. The tanner says there hasn't been an Elk in these woods since his father was a boy."

"Ah…and with the stag yesterday…"

"Exactly. We need to leave now before I…"

"Get us killed," Gendry said, then saw her pursed lips and raised eyebrow. "No. Before you have to kill someone. Right. Then lets go. Hopefully a wagon will come along down the road."

He shivered at the thought of trudging endlessly through the snow, took her hand and they walked at a quick clip to fetch their belongings from the Inn. Before she could stop him, Gendry plowed through the door of their room and found himself in a huntsman's grasp, blade to his throat.

"What are you?" he hissed at Arya.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Thanks for all the new "follows," fellow word-lovers! Read on!

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"What are you? A witch? Or one of 'em wildlin' bitches?" His blade was pressed tight to Gendry's throat.

"Please don't hurt him," Arya begged, her voice catching in her throat. _This,_ she thought, _this is the life I recognize._ So many times since she found Gendry, she'd found herself thinking, _When was the last time I laughed this hard, smiled this much, was this happy?_ But this was it—the return to how life had been since the day they took her father. She would not be able to stop the huntsman. One more throat cut. One less good man.

Fear shot through Gendry at the look on Arya's face. In this moment, she was truly not the assassin. She was lost. "Arya!"

Hearing her own name spoken snapped her out of it. "What…what are you d…?"

"She's Arya Stark, that's what she is. Sister of the King of the North."

"Oh, aye? This bint? Where's yer wolf, girly?" he laughed, his blade giving Gendry's throat just enough space. Arya kicked his knife-hand away from her husband. Then, she delivered a kick to her husband's side, knocking his body clear of the fray. He hit the floor, grabbed a blade from a scabbard and said, "Arya!"

She flicked her eyes to him just long enough to catch the knife. Arya darted forward and slit the intruder's throat before he could even react.

" _Valar morghulis,"_ she whispered.

He dropped his knife and wrapped his hands around his throat, trying to hold in the blood that seeped through his fingers. He fell to the floor. Arya's chest heaved. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, truly radiant.

Gendry staggered to his feet holding his ribs. "Arya, are you okay?" She didn't respond. He approached cautiously. He never thought he could fear Arya, but he didn't like the combination of the dagger in her hand and her vacant, blissful countenance.

"Arya, look at me! Put down the blade and look at me! We have to decide what to do, and fast!"

She looked at Gendry, saw the horror on his face and shook off her stupor. She wiped the blood from the dagger on the man's shirt.

"We run, that's what we do!"

"And then we look like the guilty ones. We become the hunted!"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"We tell the truth!"

His wife arched an incredulous eyebrow. "The truth?"

"More or less. We came back to the room. He was here to kill us out of jealously or rob us or…" he looked Arya's body up and down. "…or worse, so we had to kill him."

 _Ah,_ Arya thought, _this role again._ "You're right. We'll just have to make sure they believe us."

With that, she re-wet the blade with the huntsman's blood and handed the dagger to her husband. Arya began to shake and cry and let out a piercing scream. Gendry wrapped his arms around her, taking care to ensure that the blade was pointing away from her. The innkeeper—a round, balding man who looked about 60— burst in, causing her to flinch.

"He tried to…he tried to…" Sobs wracked her body.

Gendry dropped the knife and held his wife even closer, stroking her hair and making gentle shushing sounds. He turned to the innkeeper. "Do you know this man or how he came to be inside our room?"

"His name is Tobys, and he's a local gamesman. Hunting ain't been too good of late…'cept for you," he admitted. "I…I don't know how he got in here. I…I'm so sorry that happened in my establishment. She weren't…he didn't _hurt_ her, did he?"

At that, she wailed louder, clinging to Gendry as though that was all that held her upright.

"I just want to take my wife home, but the local justice…"

"I'll take care of it," the innkeeper said.

 _Oh, I bet you will,_ Arya thought. _No one wants the reputation of being an innkeeper who lets men into guests' rooms to rob, rape and murder them._

"You would be doing us a great service," Gendry said. He reached into his coin purse and handed the man a large coin that had him offering them any help he could provide to help them on their way.

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AN: Review, please! Next stop, WINTERFELL!


	9. Chapter 9

With that, Arya changed her mind about the horses: "We must leave as much coin in this town as possible. More coin spent means more goodwill and less chance of anyone here following us to rob us. The faster we get to Winterfell, the better. My luck cannot hold much longer. My luck never holds this long."

They bought strong horses, well-conditioned against the cold, blankets and saddles, and provisions. They rode hard for the north. Arya had grown up riding, but Gendry had very little experience, limited to his time as a captive. As a blacksmith, he'd been a good ferrier, though, and was good at getting horses to trust them, and checking and cleaning their feet—an act most horses did not enjoy. Arya taught him the best ways to brush the horses, places they liked to be pet or scratched. She was good at knowing when the horses needed rest.

"Are you sure?" Gendry asked once. "It seems like this horse would keep going."

"Some horses are too loyal for their own good. They love to run and they love to please. They would run for you until they fell down dead. It is our job to care more for them than they care for themselves." She said this with her forehead touching the horse's.

They got to know each other, day by day, telling stories to pass the time. One night as they rode through glinting, moonlit snow, Arya told him the story of how she'd earned the ire of Joffrey Baratheon.

"You didn't! He was a prince!"

"I did: chucked his sword right in the river."

"How is it you waited this long to tell me this story?"

"Because of what came after. Joffrey made The Hound kill Mycah because of my stupid temper. Mycah was the only boy who didn't laugh when I asked him to practice sword fighting with me, and the Hound ran him down because Joffrey claimed we ambushed him and beat him. They made Father kill Sansa's wolf, Lady, in place of Nymeria. It's the one thing I ever did to her that I am truly sorry for. At first, I blamed Sansa because she lied to the king about what had happened. I know, now, that she was stuck. She was supposed to marry Joffrey. She couldn't publicly call him a liar. Lady really was a lovely wolf—loyal to my sister, and gentle. I wonder whether she can ever forgive for it…or for escaping without her."

"Could you have gotten to Sansa and taken her with you?"

"I just ran through the tunnels, turning away from the sounds of voices and blades. I didn't know where she was. I barely knew where I was."

"There you are," Gendry said, as though it were settled. As though hearts never bore unjust anger.

Arya had chosen the flashier conveyance, but compensated by staying in barns instead of inns, giving coins to farmers for their hospitality or game when the farmers expressed a greater need for food than gold.

After a few days of travel, they reached the edge of Winter Town. It was not the merry, bustling place she remembered. There seemed to be far fewer people, and all window shutters and doors were closed to the cold. Arya left Gendry and their horses in a copse of trees, then went alone on foot to see the state of things. Arya felt a weight lift as she saw the Stark sigil hanging from the high walls of Winterfell. The nearest gate was heavily guarded, and guards were questioning any who would enter what business they had with the King.

Arya leaned against a big, beautiful pine and wished she could pray, now, to the heart tree for advice, but it (like her siblings) was behind the walls of Winterfell. She listened to the wind through the pine tree's needles, then shook off her reverie and began walking back to Gendry and the horses.

Arya heard something faint behind her. She turned, but saw nothing. Arya crouched and held very still—as still as she'd be taught in her dancing lessons long ago. After what felt like an hour, she saw the eyes staring at her. "Nymeria?" she whispered, though the eyes were too red. Then, the creature stalked out of the trees: a direwolf as white as snow and the size of a small pony.

"Ghost?"

The direwolf proceeded cautiously. Arya was shocked by just how big the beast had gotten. It was one thing to see in your dreams and another to actually feel, looming over you with fur and claws and teeth. When the direwolf reached her, she rose slowly to her feet. The creature sniffed Arya, then nudged her with his nose. Arya laughed. "Let's go, boy. We'll fetch my husband and introduce him to the rest of family."

The horses were restless, for some reason. Gendry was using every trick he knew to calm them. He was thankful for his strength, for he barely managed to keep hold of the rearing horses when his wife came into view with giant smile on her true face a huge, furry beast by her side.

"Th-that's Nymeria?"

"No," she said. "This is Ghost—Jon's direwolf. The runt of the litter. Do you realize what this means?"

"That your wolf is even bigger?"

"Ha! Maybe, but more importantly, it means is that Jon truly is inside, and that we can get through the gate. When they ask what business we have with the King of the North, we say that we have his direwolf."

"What if Jon isn't really inside? What if Ghost is all that's left of him?"

"Then I'll be glad to have Ghost at my side when I fight whomever killed my brother."

Gendry sighed. "Well, at least you have a plan."

Arya looked at him sharply. "Do you have a better plan?"

"I have a safer plan, but I don't think you'd be happy with 'safer.'"

She smiled and gave him a quick, fierce hug. "Let's go," she proclaimed.

They took to their horses and rode for the gate, Ghost running alongside.

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 _AN: Okay, so I promised Winterfell, but it needed a little more set up. We made it at far as the outside wall. Close enough, right? No? Well, next chapter is Winterfell FOR REAL._


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Not even going to make you wait for it! Please reward me with reviews!_

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"Highness, there are two folk outside wishing to see you. They're with your direwolf."

"They have Ghost?" Jon frowned. His direwolf came and went at will. He'd never had a problem with Ghost bothering townfolk or farmers, nor the reverse. "They trapped him?"

"No," the man said, looking a bit dazed. "He was just runnin' alongside 'em. When they dismounted, he sat right by the woman's side while she pet 'im."

Jon and Sansa looked at each other, puzzled. Ghost was a good and loyal direwolf who allowed himself to be touched only by a trusted few. He was no common dog begging to be pet by any person close by. They rose and exited the great hall. The minute he stepped outside, he heard a voice cry out, "Jon!"

Arya launched herself at him, sprinting to her brother full-speed. Jon could scarcely believe his eyes. She was a bit taller than she'd been the six or seven years before when he'd last seen her, but there was no mistaking his beloved baby sister. He swept her up, giving a shout of joy. When he put her down, Sansa approached more cautiously.

"Arya?" she reached out and touched her sister's face gingerly, as though the girl would dissolve into mist.

"Sansa, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She pulled her sister into a hug, her face buried in her sister's shoulder. "I couldn't find you. I couldn't get to you."

"It's alright. I understand," Sansa said.

Shouts of joy rang out all across the courtyard as those loyal to the Starks heard news of the return of Arya. Then Jon finally tore his eyes from his favorite sibling, whom he'd given up hope of ever seeing again, and looked at his Ghost walking toward him, away from a man holding the reins of two horses.

"Who is that, Arya?"

"That's my husband. Gendry," Arya exclaimed, gesturing for him to come closer. He handed the reins to an approaching stable boy and crossed to his wife and her siblings. "Gendry, this is my brother Jon and my sister, Sansa."

"Your highness," he said, kneeling before Jon. "Princess," he added with a nod, still kneeling.

"Get up!" Arya said, sounding embarrassed. Her husband rose with a bemused expression.

"At least someone has good manners," Sansa teased. "And I'm called _Lady_ Sansa. My father was a Lord, not King. Although my brother could grant me the title if he wished."

Jon squinted at her and asked in his low, raspy voice, "You want me to make you a princess?"

"It has a certain ring to it," Sansa teased, adding soto voce, "Being a princess might make for a better marriage. A more valuable alliance."

Arya's sharp ears caught the end of their exchange. "You have changed."

"Haven't you?" Sansa asked.

Arya merely shrugged.

"Gendry, where are you from? What is your surname?"

Gendry and Arya met eyes. There were too people they could not be sure of in the courtyard, and everyone was watching the reunion closely.

"I'm from King's Landing. My surname is…Smith. I'm a blacksmith."

Sansa's eyebrow rose in surprise. "Well, we must get you both cleaned up before dinner. We'll have a homecoming feast tonight! Jon, please show Gendry where the men bathe and shave. And give him something fitting to wear."

Jon looked at the other man and merely nodded to the right and trusted Gendry would follow him. Gendry shrugged and walked off with his brother-in-law, the King of the North.

"How long have you been together?" Sansa asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Since just before we left for Winterfell, so it's been…"

"What?" Sansa froze in her tracks. "Did he know you were a Stark before he married you?"

"Yes, but…"

"We'll annul it. This blacksmith is using you, Arya. He wanted to make his fortune by marrying a 'princess!'"

"No! Sansa, I asked _him_ to marry _me_." She could the anger flash across Sansa's face before she tamped it down and replaced it with a calm facade. _Maybe we ARE more alike than I thought._

"I see." Sansa continued up the stairs with Arya close behind. Servants bustled around, preparing a bath for Arya. Sansa left for a moment, then returned with an armful of dresses that she held before her sister's frame. "This one would suit you, I think. It'll be a rush to take it up in time, but…"

"Sansa, forget about the stupid dresses and talk to me. Can everyone leave? I can take care of myself!" Everyone looked to Lady Sansa, who nodded for them to go, handing one maid the stack of dresses. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"Arya, I just got you back. I don't want to be mad at you," she said through gritted teeth.

"But you are! Why? Might as well say it!"

Sansa growled. Arya had always been good at pushing her buttons.

"I saw the way you looked at him. You knew: you knew we were here—that we needed you and every strong marriage alliance we could get. And what do you do? You marry a blacksmith! For love!" Sansa was clearly furious. "Father promised me to Joffrey to strengthen the kingdom. So it was! I thought I wanted that match, but I couldn't have been more wrong. He killed father and enjoyed any pain he could inflict on me. Tywin promised me to his son, Tyrion to 'heal the kingdom's wounds caused by my traitorous father.' And so it was, until Joffrey was killed, and Tyrion and I fled in different directions. I barely escaped that marriage alive. And finally, Petyr Baellish promised me to Ramsey Bolton as the only way to get a Stark back into Winterfell. And so. It. Was. You will _never_ understand what that cost me, while you were adventuring Gods-know-where and marrying for love with no thought of us! None at all!"

"First of all, I have been helping! Who do you think killed off every Frey who had a part in the Red Wedding, leaving the Twins unprotected and ready for you to take over?" Sansa's jaw dropped. Arya continued, "As for the 'love' part, do you really think I'm that stupid? I may have come to love Gendry, but I know love alone is not enough! Remember why father was killed?"

Sansa squinted suspiciously at Arya and said, in a tone suggesting that Arya truly was stupid, "He said that Joffrey wasn't the rightful heir. That he wasn't truly Robert's son."

"My husband may have grown up a nameless blacksmith, but he is the son of King Robert Baratheon and rightful Lord of Storm's End."

"Rightful heir of the Iron Throne, you mean?"

"He doesn't want it. He wants me nowhere near it. Just before we took our vows, he told me he was marrying me to keep me from killing Cersei and taking the Iron Throne," Arya said with a dry laugh. "He said, 'Westeros is not ready for the wrath of Queen Arya.' Jon can have it. The Mother of Dragons can have it. Hell, Cersei Lanister can keep it if she stays out of The North stops trying to burn King's Landing to the ground!"

"Well," Sansa said, with a small, secretive smile that reminded Arya of their mother, "We mustn't keep him waiting. Wash up, then Mara will dress your hair. Meanwhile, I'll hem your dress. Lets show your husband what a beauty he married."

"Or at least what I look like clean and in a fancy dress," Arya replied.

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 _Reviews=love!_


	11. Chapter 11

_AN: Five new reviews? AWESOME! Enjoy!_

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After Gendry had bathed, he dressed in come clothing a servant brought him. When he appeared in the garment, Jon swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Those were my brother Rob's clothes."

"Ah," Gendry said. "Thank you for the use of them. I don't own anything fit for a place like this."

"Fits you nice. Keep it. I'll have more brought to your room." He cleared his throat again. "How did you meet my sister?"

"That's a long story," Gendry said, trying to hold very still as the keep's barber shaved his face and neck with a straightblade. The king's eyes prompted him to proceed. "It was right after King Robert Baratheon died. We were both headed North to The Wall, actually. I was going to take The Black. She was disguised as a boy named 'Arry, and she was hoping to make it to you."

"You've been together all this time? Since she was a little girl?" Jon's eyes were piercing.

"We were just friends then. We looked out for each other, but then we met up with the Brothers Without Banners and we heard your mother and brother were close. I stayed with the Brotherhood as their smith, and she went in search of your family. Things didn't go as planned for either of us. The so-called Brothers sold me out and Arya…I should let her tell that part of the story." The shave was complete. They finished tidying and proceeded toward the hall.

Jon teased, "You need my baby sister's permission?"

"Need my permission for what?"

The men looked up at Arya and Sansa descending the stairs. Sansa's hair was a complicated arrangement of buns and curls, and she wore a violet dress that set off her pale skin and red hair nicely.

Sansa had given Arya her favorite blue dress, knowing the color had been her favorite as a girl, and it would bring out the blue flecks in her gray eyes. She'd hemmed it a tad shorter that was fashionable, anticipating that her tomboy sister would not be used to hems around her toes, let alone a train. She'd also laced the bodice a bit loosely so Arya wouldn't feel too constricted. She'd arranged silky white scarf around the edges of the bodice so that Arya's neck and collar bones would be highlighted nicely without exposing so much bosom that Arya would feel self-conscious. Sansa had secured the fabric with a direwolf brooch that made Arya smile so broadly that Sansa assured her she could keep it.

Sansa had not been able to convince Arya to let them take hot tongs to her hair in order to make ringlets, so Sansa and Mara had settled for a soft, pretty braid draping over Arya's left shoulder. They had slathered her with creams and beauty treatments that felt nice but also made Arya sigh at the wasted time.

"I need you to help me if they're really going to understand where you've been, and how we met again," Gendry said.

Arya reached the bottom of the stairs. He touched her face, which was stunning. She played with his hair, which for once was pushed back out of his eyes.

"Damn," she said. "They made you more handsome. You were too pretty for me before."

"I don't think so. Have you seen yourself?"

"Ha! You can barely see me through all this…" she gestured from the top of her head to her feet, which were in pretty-but-useless kidskin slippers "stuff. Oh, it's pretty, though, Sansa," she quickly amended, not wanting to seem ungrateful for her sister's considerable efforts. "You made me look like a real lady."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "You ARE a real lady, Arya. Now, we must hurry. There's something we must take care of before supper."

"Aye. I was thinking the same," Jon said, leading them to a private chamber. "Are you a good and honorable man?" Jon asked Gendry.

"I try to be."

"Are you good to my sister?"

"Yes," Gendry said. Jon looked at Arya, and she nodded.

"Will you protect, honor and serve the North while you live?"

Gendry realized this was not a conversation but an oath. "I will."

"Good," Jon said, as though that settled the matter. He clapped a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. "Then I name you Sir…"

"Wait!" Arya exclaimed. "We didn't tell you who he is, yet!"

"I thought he was a blacksmith!" Jon said, bewildered.

"He is," Sansa said, "But according to Arya, he is also the bastard son and only living heir of Robert Baratheon. He does not wish to take the Iron Throne or his family's keep at Storm's End. He merely wishes to be married to our sister and to make official the long-held trust between our families."

"Is this true?" Jon asked.

"It is," Gendry replied.

"I swear it," Arya added.

"Is there anyone who can bear witness to the fact that you are Robert Baratheon's heir?"

Gendry laughed bitterly. "Only two people that I can think of: The Red Woman and Ser Davos Seaworth. She used my 'king's blood' to work spells. She'd have killed me if he hadn't set me free."

"Ser Davos Seaworth has pledged himself to my service" Jon said and called for a squire to fetch Ser Davos.

"The man who saved Gendry is here?" Arya asked.

He soon appeared before them, proclaiming, "I have heard of your good fortune, King, in the return of your sister!" He smiled at Arya, then noticed the man by her side. "By The Gods, you lived!" he exclaimed. "When I put you in that rowboat, I wasn't sure you'd make it to shore, especially when you said you couldn't swim!"

"So you know this man?" Jon asked. "He is Robert Baratheon's son? You would swear it?"

"Aye. The Red Woman believed it so. She said King's blood made powerful magic, and that she had worked spells with his blood."

Jon nodded. "Stay, then, and serve as witness as I grant him his title. Gendry Baratheon, will you protect, honor and serve the North while you live?"

"I swear by the Old Gods and the New, I will."

"I name you Ser Gendry of House Baratheon," Jon said.

"Now you say your house's words, 'Ours is the fury.'" Sansa prompted.

"Ours is the fury," Gendry dutifully repeated. "And I pledge my fealty to John Stark, King in the North."

There were handshakes and hugs all around. Jon quietly said to his brother-in-law, "If you prove trustworthy, you and Arya will be lord and lady of a holdfast."

"Thank you, Majesty. I think Arya would be good at running a holdfast."

"And you?"

"I'm good for your sister." He looked in Jon's eyes and could see why men had trusted him enough to make him King of the North. He did not seem to crave power. He mostly just seemed to care. He clearly adored Arya. "Before we married, she…" He couldn't find the words to finish the statement, but Jon nodded.

"She's had some hard times, I'm sure. We all did. I'm glad she has you, now, to protect her from danger."

The king did not understand that his sister _was_ the danger, but this was not the time.

"I've heard many stories of your bravery and mischief," Ser Bravos mused to Arya, "but I hadn't heard you were such a beauty.

Arya had liked Ser Davos right off, so she tried very hard not to roll her eyes at the complement. Gendry whispered in her ear, "I still like your real face best," which made Arya smile so bright that she was stunning as they entered the great hall for the feast.

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 _AN: Reviews are appreciated. Thanks!_


	12. Chapter 12

AN: I'm writing like mad over here! Enjoy!

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"Lords and Ladies, honored guests, all who have come to share in our joy, I thank you. It is a joyful day, indeed," Sansa proclaimed, standing by her brother's side at the head table. She cleared her throat.

"Yes," Jon said. "For today, our sister Arya has returned to us…"

The guests shouted in happiness.

"…returned to us with her husband, Ser Gendry of House Barratheon." Arya and Gendry stood on the other side of Jon. Gendry bowed and Arya curtsied as a murmur spread through a crowd shocked to learn that a Baratheon lived and, moreover, was Lady Arya's husband. The sound grew and grew until Lord Manderly called out, "We're supposed to believe this beauty is the same girl who ran round the keep in breeches?"

"That's Arya Horse-Face to you," Arya proclaimed, causing a roar of laughter in all in the crowd who remembered her nickname in those days. She tried to think of another way to show them she truly was Arya of Winterfell, then loaded a spoon with food and aimed it as though she would fling food at Lord Manderly and any others with the misfortune to be seated near him.

"ARYA, don't you dare!" Sansa exclaimed.

Arya turned the spoon toward her sister who shrieked and tried to block herself with a napkin, adding, "You are a married woman and a lady!"

Gendry grabbed his wife's hand and steered the too-full spoon of food into his mouth. He struggled to chew the huge bite, making everyone laugh while still keeping the peace.

John leaned toward his brother-in-law and murmured with a smile, "You are good for my sister."

During the meal, Gendry and Arya found themselves fielding politely-worded questions about their origins. They answered in the simplest manner possible: Gendry was Robert's illegitimate son who had been hiding from the Lannisters. Arya had also been hiding from the Lannisters—much of the time in Bravos. Sansa was deft at steering away any conversation that pressed the couple further by bringing up the topic in which all Northerners were most interested these days: Daenerys Targaryen and her visit to the North, complete with Greyjoy ships and fighters, khalasars of Dothraki horsemen, Tyrion Lannister, and three dragons.

Arya's eyes sparkled at that. "Are they as big as they say?"

"They're huge," Sansa said. "According to Danerys, when they were born, they were small, like kittens. Now, they couldn't fit in this Great Hall! One is larger that the other two. Queen Daenerys says it is because they were kept locked up, and dragons are meant to be free."

"Have you touched one?" she asked.

"No," Sansa said. "They are fierce and beautiful, but I never wanted to get that close. Jon did, though."

"Really, Jon? What was it like?"

He shrugged and spoke softly. Conversation in the room seemed to fade away as all present strained to hear the King's low, rough voice. "It was Rhaegal, one of the smaller two. He's green as grass, with some bits of bronze and copper and red. He's spiky, and bigger, even, than the mammoths I saw North of the wall. His wings are the color of amber, and when they spread, it blocks out the sun like a great, wide cloud.

"The queen said Rhaegal liked me. He kept sniffing me. She looked a bit nervous and said something to him in the old tongue—sounded like a warning. But he just…" Jon looked a bit embarrassed, but also dazed as he said, "He nuzzled me. His breath was hot, but his scales felt nice under my hand."

"I would love to meet the queen and her dragons," Arya said.

"She'll like you," Jon said.

"Really?" Arya asked.

"Aye. She loves wearing breeches," Jon said.

"Sansa, if Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, can wear breeches, then surely I can!"

"We'll discuss it later. Hers are actually quite presentable," Sansa admitted. "Perhaps we can ask her about her garment maker."

"Did you hear that, Gendry?" Arya asked, clasping his hand.

"I did," her husband replied, looking at her fondly.

She sobered. "I don't trust this," she whispered. "When did things last go right for so long?"

He whispered back, "Think back just three days…"

"But that was fine. We're fine!" Her voice rose slightly. "Something has to go wrong. Something always goes wrong!"

"I know how you feel," Sansa said. "Things go wrong for so long that it begins to feel normal. Or like you're cursed. But winter is here. The days grow shorter and shorter. Food will grow more and more scarce."

"The white walkers will come," Jon added.

"There will be time enough for troubles," Sansa said, standing and raising her voice for all to hear. "For now, let us be happy. Today, our sister returned to us! Today we learned that House Baratheon, a house dear to us, is not extinct after all. We have light and warmth and food. We have each other. Cheers!" She exclaimed, raising her glass.

"Cheers!" the guests chanted, and everyone drank with happy proclamations of "Long live House Baratheon!" and "Long Live House Stark!"

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AN: As always, i appreciate all of the favorites, follows and reviews!


	13. Chapter 13

AN: I admit, I was hoping for more reviews of the past few chapters. Thank you, though, to all of you who've "followed" or "favorited" this story. I appreciate it!

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"So the Red Woman _told you_ of my blood?" Gendry quietly asked Ser Davos.

The older man cleared his throats. "I didn't think you'd want me to tell the exact details."

"Though eventually I will," Gendry.

"Why? Forgive me, Lord Baratheon, but I must ask what good could come from it? Melisandre used your blood to curse Lady Arya's brother—through no fault of your own—and sure enough, he met his end. You're in love. Anyone can see it. It does everyone good to see it. There is darkness enough in this world without adding to it needlessly."

Gendry nodded. "Thank you, again, for saving me."

"I've taken too many lives. It's feels good to save one."

After dinner, Jon made the rounds, talking to as many guests as possible before thanking everyone for coming and excusing himself. Then he, Sansa, Arya and Gendry left the hall together. The sisters were arm in arm, chatting happily.

"I don't think they've ever gotten along this well," Jon said.

"Your Grace..."

"Please, we're brothers now. Just call me Jon."

"Jon…how long did it take for your new name to feel real?"

"When I was 'Jon Snow,' I thought what I wanted most in the world was to be called 'Jon Stark,' but what I really wanted was something I'll never have: I wanted _my father_ to call me 'Jon Stark.'

"Others giving you your father's name still means something. Maybe it means more. My brother Rob was named 'Stark' the second he was born because the right woman was his mother. I was named 'Stark' because the people of the North trust me with the responsibility my father bore. Your father held the realm together after the Mad King was killed. Not every man could have. You will find a way to honor your name."

"Ours is the fury?" Gendry asked, shaking his head at the absurd motto. "Three brothers tore each other apart, and what's left? A bastard blacksmith."

"That's Lord Bastard Blacksmith," Jon corrected with a laugh. "I'm still trying to figure out what we're supposed to say now that winter's actually here."

The women turned to look at them. "What's so funny?" Sansa asked.

"We're trying to come up with new house words," Jon said, "now that Winter is actually here."

"That's easy!" Arya exclaimed. "It should be, 'We told you so!'"

"And what of House Baratheon? Do you think children of ours need to run around proclaiming, 'Ours is the Fury?'"

"More like, 'Mum says if we go to war against each other, she'll feed us to her direwolf.'"

Sansa gasped and pulled away from her sister.

"Arya," Jon said with a censuring tone.

"It was just a joke. Of course I wouldn't really…" Then a memory dawned on her. "The rumor? Surely the rumor wasn't true! Jon, you didn't really feed a bound man to Ghost?"

Sansa straightened to her fullest height and walked away without a glance back.

"I'm sorry. I…I didn't know!"

"It's not what you think," Jon said. He took a deep breath, hung his head and ran his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture he'd had since childhood. "It was his own dogs. He starved them—used them to hunt people, including Sansa. He bragged of all the foul things he would do to her after the battle. So when we won…she gave him the treatment he would have given others."

"I need to go talk to her," Arya said. Jon nodded, and Arya followed after her sister. She knocked at the door. "Sansa?"

"Go away, Arya!"

"Please? It's our first day back together. I don't want it to end like this."

There was a long pause, then Sansa said, "Come in."

Arya sat beside her sister on the bed. "I want to say the right thing, but I'm no good at it. I should say something comforting about how it's all behind you, but…"

Sansa raised an eyebrow. "But what?"

"What I _really_ want to say is, Good! I'm glad he's dead. I'm glad you're the one who killed him! I'm glad that he died knowing that he couldn't break you!"

"But didn't he? I didn't just kill him, Arya. _I liked it."_

"You sound like Gendry. Our sigil is the direwolf. Do wolves regret it when they kill a creature that threatens their pack? No, and neither should we!"

"We aren't animals, Arya!"

"Aren't we? Have you ever heard how soldiers talk about battle? Tell me some of them don't love it!"

"It doesn't concern you at all that you like killing?"

Arya sighed. "I was alone for so long, and every night before going to sleep, I would repeat a list, Sansa: a list of every person who deserved to die by my hand. When I came back to Westeros, I didn't go looking for you. I chopped Walder Frey's sons up and fed them to him in a pie before slitting his treacherous throat."

"Arya!" Sansa exclaimed, recoiling in horror.

"When Gendry found me again on the bridge, I was planning how to finish my list—how to kill the Mountain and the Queen. Gendry said he would take me to you, but only if I gave up my plan. He said he would marry me, but only if I wouldn't kill Cersei and take the throne. He said it like it was a joke, but it wasn't."

"'Westeros is not ready for the wrath of Queen Arya.'" Sansa recalled.

Arya nodded. "Remember those dancing lessons I had in King's Landing?"

"You always came back a mess. You were so clumsy."

"They weren't that kind of dancing lessons. It was water dancing—swordplay—with the First Sword of Bravos. He said there is just one god, the God of Death. 'And what do we say to the God of Death? Not today.' I've come to realize that Syrio never ran from a fight, but he didn't go picking fights, either. I'm glad that we know how to defend ourselves and our family, but there's more than one way for the God of Death to come to you. I paid it tribute again and again with bloody sacrifices. But I must learn to follow my Dancing Master's advice: Tell it, 'Not Today.'"

"And what about the things we have already done?" Sansa asked.

"Syrio said, 'Every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.'"

"Then I must be nearing perfection by now," Sansa grumbled, making Arya laugh so hard that Sansa laughed, too. Then they shared a tight embrace before parting for bed.

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AN: Please take a moment to drop a line. The quicker I get comments, the quicker I get inspired and you get new chapters! Where do you hope this story goes?


	14. Chapter 14

"You shouldn't have sent away all the servants," Gendry said.

"Why not?" his wife replied.

"Do you know how to undo all that?" He asked, gesturing to Arya's fancy attire.

"I'm tempted to grab my hunting knife and make quick work of it."

"Don't," Gendry said. "Jon said he was amazed Sansa gave you that dress, as it's her favorite."

"Alright, then." She thought back to how her sister and Mara had prepared her and began to reverse the process, removing the brooch, the scarf and a few pins from her garments. She instructed him on how to loosen the laces on her bodice and eventually managed to wriggle her way out of the various garments and undergarments. She draped the pile of garments over a chair so they wouldn't wrinkle.

"Does it always take that long?"

"No. I guess having a servant help isn't the worst idea. Although the best idea would be not to wear all this nonsense at all."

"It's a bit cold for that," Gendry teased.

She rolled her eyes and looked at the bed: inviting and covered with a pile of furs. "Oh, Gendry, now this is a bed. This is the kind of bed I grew up with. I used to dream of it when we slept on the ground on our way to The Wall. Come." She slid under the pile of furs and moaned at the pleasure of its warmth.

"I don't trust a bed this nice," Gendry said, but shed his clothes, doused the lanterns and joined her in the warmth.

Arya held the wolf brooch in her fingers, and it glinted in the light of the fireplace. "Sansa gave it to me, but we'll need to have some stags made."

"We need to make some stags," Gendry teased. "But as for pins, you should wear a wolf. You, Lady Baratheon, are no stag."

"You're my husband. I will honor your house," Arya said.

"You will. You will show be how to do honor to a noble name. You'll teach me how to raise lords and ladies and keep a holdfast."

"You're already more honorable than your father."

"I sometimes forget that you knew him."

"His eyes were blue like yours. My father said when they were young, he was trim and strong as an ox. He said he was brilliant and brave in battle, and gave speeches that turned scared boys into soldiers, eager to fight. By the time I knew him…well, let's just say he greatly enjoyed wine and feasting."

"And ladies."

"Yes, and he loved a good joke. What you said when we first met? He would have liked that: 'When I hit iron, it sings. Will you sing when I hit you?' He would have laughed loud enough to be heard over the din of a feast in the great hall."

Gendry sighed. "I was supposed to be a blacksmith. I was good at making swords and armor. What have you gotten me into, Arry? Who am I to have power over other men?"

"Power doesn't just come to those who deserve it. More often, it comes by birth or blood or money. You'll do the right thing with it. I know it."

She kissed her husband and pulled him close, feeling safe and warm in the home she'd stopped believing she would ever see again. What other forsaken hopes were still possible? She kissed Gendry deeply. He did not look at her like she was a creature of death.

"We should make some stags, hmm?" Arya tried to let herself believe that she could be what Gendry saw in her, pouring her hopes into kiss and touch, their bodies hot in the cooling night.

* * *

"Of course you can still wear the wolf sigil, Arya. Mother wore the fish of house Tully!"

The women were sitting in Sansa's chamber, sorting through the few trunks of garments that has survived the fire set by the men of house Greyjoy and the depravity of the Boltons, who had either not taken notice of the garments or who had been wise enough not to destroy them, as fabric was in short supply. Garments were regularly disassembled and reassembled to suit new owners and new fashions. Sansa sorted through a trunk and pulled out an example.

"I…I had forgotten." Arya traced her fingers over a padded collar decorated with fish. She remembered now. Her mother had used a pin in the shape of an arched fish. She would dress in green or in Tully blue (that's why Arya had like the color as a girl), and she often embroidered or beaded her clothing with twisting, swimming fish.

Arya admired the direwolves Sansa had embroidered into the shoulders of the grey dress she was currently wearing. Arya gestured to her sister's arm. "Those make me wish I'd paid more attention in my sewing lessons."

Sansa laughed. "Oh, Arya, I'm not sure you could sit in a chair for that long, even now! I'll make you some lovely dresses with direwolves. Don't worry; the dresses will suit you. Not too long or too tight. You'll be able to take long strides, ride a horse and use a bow-and-arrow." Sansa found herself excited at the challenge. "Maybe I could find a way to make acceptable breeches." She was picturing her sister in breeches, a hip-length tunic, a fitted gown-bodice with a hip-length peplum and a full-length coat. It would look at first glance as though Arya was wearing a dress, but without the weight or constriction of skirts about her legs. It seemed a reasonable compromise, and Northerners' admiration of the Mother of Dragons meant that a woman in trousers no longer aroused as much shock as just a year ago. Sansa described the garment to her sister, who beamed.

"I wish could do something nice for you."

"Just remember that next time I need you to do something you don't want to do! On a different note, Lady Mormont will arrive in a few days time. You'll like her."

"Why's that?"

"She's twelve years old and tough as her sigil! She committed men of Bear Island to fight, and after the battle, she's the one who declared Jon king!"

"A twelve-year-old girl?"

Sansa laughed. "The lords were all arguing. She stood up and shamed every house that hadn't helped us win Winterfell. When she sat down, Lord Manderly basically confessed that she'd hurt his feelings, admitted he was wrong, and he and all the Northern lords begged forgiveness, pledged loyalty and chanted, "The King in the North!"

"She cowed old man Manderly? I can't wait to meet her."

Gendry and Jon entered the room. "Who, Daenerys Targaryen?" Jon asked.

"No," Sansa corrected with a smirk at her brother. "Lady Mormont."

Jon smiled fondly. "Aye, you'll like her. Don't know if she'll like you, though."

"Why not?" Arya demanded, frowning.

"Because you married a Barratheon. Didn't Sansa tell you? Lyanna Mormont has strong opinions about who Stark women marry."

"Leanna Mormont has strong opinions about everything," Sansa said.

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AN: Comments=motivation=new chapters!


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Thanks for all the new comments, "Follows" and "Favorites." I agree that we need some special Gendry/Arya moments soon. I just didn't want to breeze past the reunion scenes too quickly. Hmm...I'll work on it. In the meantime, please enjoy!

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"Must you call my sister 'Arry'?" Sansa asked Gendry over breakfast. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, "It's a boy's name."

Jon just laughed.

"That's what she was calling herself years ago when we first met," Gendry replied.

"First met?" Sansa asked. "I thought you met not long before coming to Winterfell."

"You didn't tell her?" Gendry asked.

"We didn't get to that part," Arya said with a shrug. She explained how she'd escaped Kings Landing disguised as a boy, and how one day the Gold Cloaks had come. She'd been sure they were after her, but they were actually after Gendry as a possible claimant to the throne.

"Gendry asked why they were after me: 'Did you kill someone, or is it just because you're a girl?'"

"She said, 'I'm not a girl,' but with her eyes so wide—she'd never looked more like a girl. I asked, 'Do you think I'm as stupid as the rest of them?' and she said, 'Stupider.'" Gendry started to laugh, and the Starks joined in. "But she just kept insisting she was a girl."

Arya's eyes twinkled with mischief. "And he said, 'Pull your cock out and take a piss, then!'"

Sansa gasped and asked, "What did you do?"

"I told him who I was. He reacted like you just now, sputtering about how he'd shouldn't have been talking about cocks or pissing in front of me, and said, 'I should be calling you milady.'"

Gendry jumped in, "And then, sounding like a queen, she commanded, 'Do _not_ call me milady!' So I agreed: 'As milady commands.' And she shoved me on my arse in the dirt." Gendry guffawed.

"Arya!" Sansa chided, again they all had to laugh, and it felt good to be in a safe, warm room ringing with laughter.

They told more stories— the sad story of their parting, the dark story of the torture at Harrenhall and the mysterious tale of their escape. Sansa marveled at the idea of a man who could change his face, but not much surprised Jon anymore. That is, until he learned that his sister could change her face.

"So I see this girl on the bridge, and I feel like I know her, but I don't know why. Then this man with a stack of lumber on his shoulder turns real quick and I think she's about to get smacked off the bridge by that pile of boards, but she does this water-dancer move and ducks the boards completely. I run up, and she has a different face, but it's _her._ I know it's 'Arry." He paused and Arya gave Gendry a nod. "She said she ain't, but I remembered the man who could change his face. Then I caught sight of her sword, Needle, hanging from her waist and I was sure of it, so finally she gave up the game."

"Arya, you…you can change your face?" Sansa asked, astonished.

"It's how I killed the Freys," she admitted.

"You killed the Freys?" Jon asked. He'd been scrutinizing Arya for some time, but looked at her even more closely now.

Arya nodded. "And it's how I got here without being spotted."

"How do you do it?" Sansa asked.

"Trust me, Sansa, you don't really want to know."

"I do!" Sansa said. "It would be useful!"

"It's not just a spell," Arya said. "There's a price. Maybe I'll tell you more another day."

Sansa accepted the answer for the time being and told them of her time in disguise—how she'd dyed her hair and pretended to be someone else. She described her raven gown.

"Now that's a dress I'd like to see," Arya said, which made Sansa smile.

The girls tried to get Jon to tell them about his time with the Wildlings, but he looked so sad that they stopped. He merely said, "The Free Folk are good at living in nature. They appreciate what they have. They don't have lords and ladies. They follow only who they choose to follow."

"And they chose to follow you south," Gendry noted.

Jon shrugged with a far-away look. "We have the same enemy."

"Then we should prepare," Arya said. "Come, we need to teach my husband to fight."

"Arya," Sansa chided, "You're a lady! Jon, tell her she can't go!"

"Sansa, Jon is the one who gave me my sword in the first place," Arya said. "Even father knew I wasn't going to be _that kind of lady_. That's why he got me a master of swords for my 'dancing lessons.'"

" _That kind of lady?"_ Sansa asked, indignant. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Arya sighed. "Sansa, you said it yourself: I can't sit still long enough to sew or learn to play an instrument. I always say the wrong thing. Luckily, I found a husband who will put up with a wife like me and who _can_ say the right thing."

"Do you expect me to sew, too?" Gendry asked.

"Can you?" Arya asked.

"No." He replied. "Well, I can sew well enough to fix a hole, but not pretty."

"Arya…"

"Sansa, you do very well as a lady, helping the family. Please, just let me help the family my way."

"Fine, but eventually one of you two will need to come to me so I can teach you how to take care of a holdfast! You'll need to know how to manage the stores of food, clothing and linens, and how to manage a household staff."

Arya smirked at her husband. "Duel you for it!"

"That's not a fair fight, and you know it!" Gendry complained.

"All the more reason for you to practice."

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AN: Please take a moment to drop a line. The quicker I get comments, the quicker I get inspired and you get new chapters!


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Sorry if this is confusing, but I made a few changes. Enjoy. P.S. Thanks for all the comments! A couple of you mentioned doubt that Arya would have given up her list so easily. I'm working it into an upcoming chapter!

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They spent much of the morning examining Winterfell's armory, taking stock of what weapons were in good shape, which ones they needed made and which needed repaired. Gendry made friends with Mikken the blacksmith, one of the scarce folks who had managed to survive the Grejoys and the Boltons. They compared techniques and designs until Arya came over and presented Needle to Mikken for inspection. He looked it over, smiled and handed it back. Arya looked into the large man's eyes and said, "Thank you for making my sword. Sometimes, it was all I had of home, and Needle protected me well all these years."

"I am honored, Milady," the usually-gruff man said, before bowing and turning away to hide the tears in his eyes.

Gendry whispered to his wife, "I thought you 'never say the right thing,'" and kissed her cheek. "Mikken, could you make another sword like Needle? I hear we have a fierce young lady coming to visit, and I'd like to have a proper gift for her."

"And I could teach her to use it!" Arya exclaimed.

Jon gave a small smile, picturing such a lesson. "Not as skinny as Needle, though. Rapiers are good for duels, but Lady Mormont will likely want to ride into battle before long. She'll need a narrow cut-and-thrust blade, like a proper Bear Island sword, just smaller and lighter."

"You'll let a girl ride into battle?"

"I don't know about 'let.' I was relieved she didn't try to ride into the last one. Now that I'm her king, I could order her not to, but she'll only accept it for so long. She's Lady of her island." Jon stopped to think. "Maybe it's time to make you a proper sword, Arya. You're bigger and stronger now."

"What's wrong with Needle?" she asked, frowning at him. "Needle's light, so I can strike fast! Fast is better than strong."

"I'm afraid I agree with your brother on this," Gendry admitted. "Needle is light and fast, but she's also short. You have to get too close to your opponent."

Arya considered this. "A longer rapier, or a cut-and thrust blade? You'd have to teach me battle fighting!" Jon nodded. Arya turned to her husband. "You could make something longer and broader, strong, but not so heavy that it slows me down?"

"I'm sure Mikken and I could figure something out," Gendry said.

"I can't wait to see it! Now stop stalling and pick out a practice sword!"

Gendry had taught himself some basics over the years from watching others, and Arya had given him some tips when they first met. Jon took the lead now, as Gendry would be expected to wield a longsword or a broadsword, not a rapier. He was strong from years of hard work and better at taking directions than the average noble boy, as he was used to it. Jon thought Gendry would have done well at The Wall. Arya kept popping into the lesson, though, contradicting her brother.

Before anyone knew what was happening, the siblings where dueling, each with an edgeless blade, though Arya was using the smallest, lightest one—usually reserved for small boys. Jon's moves were bold and powerful, but Arya's were quick and unexpected. She didn't telegraph her moves, and she didn't have a cape weighing her down. She did have the disadvantage of wearing a dress, but it was one she'd bought on the road, selected because it was warm but light-weight and didn't constrict her movements.

They were an interesting pair to watch. Jon was known for his power with a sword, but Arya's fighting style was like nothing anyone in the North used. Instead of blocking his sword in a straight collision of blades, Arya would use her sword to guide Jon's to a slightly different place, diverting most of the kinetic energy instead of absorbing it. The power of his strikes still jarred Arya. They parried for some time. Finally, she darted forward and thrust her blade, jabbing Jon right over his heart, then darted back and said in a Bravossi accent, "You are dead." The courtyard erupted into cheers, applause and a few jeers at Jon for getting beaten by his little sister.

Jon dropped his sword in frustration. "Most people say I'm good at this."

Arya nodded, shrugged and raised a mocking eyebrow. "Rematch?"

"First show me that pivot you did earlier…"

"I thought this was supposed to be my lesson," Gendry mused and wandered back to the forge to discuss two special swords with Mikken.

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AN: Please take a moment to drop a line. Remember, comments bring new chapters!


	17. Chapter 17

_AN: If you read Ch. 16 in the first few minutes after I posted it, I ended up going back and making a few changes. You might want to check it out! Thanks for the reviews, folks! They are so helpful!_

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After lunch, Jon ordered Arya to stay inside and learn about running a keep with Sansa so that he and Gendry could have an uninterrupted lesson in sword-fighting. Sansa had begun by showing Arya the repairs and planting that had been done in the glass gardens, as well as the foodstores, including grain, beans, sun-dried vegetables, fruit and berries, sausages and meat preserved with salt or smoke. She then showed Arya a ledger book listing the foodstores and how changes had to be tracked, week-to-week. She also explained that they would have to work with the keep's farmers to make sure there was enough feed for the livestock.

Then she'd asked Arya what she would request for a week's meals. Arya had gotten a dreamy look on her face while describing feast after feast: "…and three—no, four hams."

"Arya, at that pace, we'd starve after less than a year of winter!"

Arya sighed and put her head down on the table. "We're doomed."

"We're not! You just have to think it through! If we eat all the chickens, that's the end of eggs, too! If you eat all the cows, that's not only the end of new cows, but no new milk or cheese. If you eat all the sheep, we don't just lose lamb and mutton; we lose wool. To make it last, we make soups, stews, meat pies…"

Arya sat up. "You know I used to have a friend called Hot Pie."

"What?" Sansa sighed. "Arya, you're trying to distract me, just as you always did with Septa during our lessons."

"I am not! Ask Gendry later. He'll tell you! He was a baker. He works at an inn. He tried to make me a direwolf out of bread. It was kind of lumpy but tasted really good."

"Arya, you have to try..."

"I will if you will."

"If I will what? What do you want me to try?"

"I'll learn to do all this," she gestured at the ledger book, "if you'll let me teach you to fight."

"Arya, it isn't proper."

"And the things bad men try to do...are they proper?"

Sansa turned pale. Arya didn't want to hurt her sister with her words, but better her words than some terrible man in a worse manner.

"Sansa, the Hound…he told me he saved you, once."

"The Hound?" Sansa looked confused. "He would say the most terrible things, but yes, he save me. He saved me more than once. He stopped me from trying to throw Joffrey from the battlements. They would have cut my head off for it. Then one day, the smallfolk rioted. Some men had me, and if he hadn't come..." She cleared her throat. "He killed them. He told me he liked to kill, and I should be glad, because he would be all that stood between me and Joffrey. And during the Battle of Blackwater, he found me and offered to take me home, to Winterfell. He used to call me 'Little Bird.'"

Arya nodded. Sandor Clegane hadn't lied about saving Sansa. "He called me 'the Stark bitch,'" Arya said with a distant look, "Or just 'girl.'" She shook off the image of him, bloody and begging leaning against the bottom of a cliff. "I'll teach you to protect yourself with a knife and a sword."

"And you'll learn everything you need to know to be lady of a great house without complaining?"

"I will!"

"I don't believe you, but fine."

She handed Needle to Sansa, who held the sword with a limp wrist, dangling it toward the ground.

"Sansa, you're graceful. You'll be good at this if you give it half a chance!" She took the sword back from her sister and demonstrated a series of moves—turning and pivoting, twisting and thrusting her sword— for Sansa, who was smiling.

"I thought you were clumsy! That was beautiful," she said, "Alright, show me how to hold the sword."

* * *

Over the next few days, they formed a routine. Sansa and Jon taught Arya and Gendry how to care for a holdfast and all the people it was responsible for. Arya taught waterdancing techniques to Sansa, Gendry and Jon. Jon gave Arya and Gendry some lessons with swords until Gendry was proficient enough to join in drills with the rest of Jon's men. Arya was arguing to join with the men, too, but when it became known that Lady Arya and Lady Sansa were dueling, local girls began to show up, requesting to train.

"Please, Miladies, I want to serve the King of the North," or "Please, Miladies, Winter is here, and the things they say are coming…" Arya had agreed immediately.

"Arya, what will their families say?" Sansa asked.

"I would think that their families will be glad that their daughters are safer. I made no promises that Jon would allow any of them to train for battle. I'm teaching them the style of fighting that's best for self-defense."

She relented, so Arya began teaching a dozen women a combination of what she'd learned from Syrio Fyrell and what she'd learned as a dockside girl: how to stomp a man's foot, breaking the small, delicate bones; how to kick him in the stones; how to break his nose with an elbow; how to thrust blades into the soft places between bones: the jugular, the femoral, the heart.

The first day, the men had mocked them as "Arya's Army," but the women instantly took the name for themselves. So it was that Lady Mormont arrived to the sight of Arya and Sansa Stark parrying and thrusting in the snowy courtyard, having an impressive duel before the delighted eyes of Arya's Army.

* * *

 _AN: I'm a teacher, and Summer Vacation ends tomorrow, so if you want me to keep making the time to write for you, please take a spare moment to leave a review for me. I can't tell you how much it helps. It only you guys were around to cheer me on as I write my non-fanfic writing. I'd get so much more done!_


	18. Chapter 18

AN: You guys are awesome and your reviews give me LIFE! It's kind of you to encourage my writing AND my teaching. Thanks! I stayed up late to make sure you get at least a short chapter. Enjoy.

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Sansa was taking well to dueling. She had picked up techniques quickly. Sansa was graceful and had a cunning mind, sometimes using strategy in her movements to manipulate Arya in directions she didn't expect. Arya was pushing herself to use the techniques Jon had taught her instead of water dancing. As such, the duel was more evenly matched than any they'd had before. The sisters parried and thrust, ranging this way and that.

Leanna's voice rang out across the courtyard: "So the rumors are true!" She reined in her horse. One of her advisors rushed to dismount and help her down, but she was off her horse before his foot was on the ground. She handed him the reins of her horse.

"Lady Mormont!" Sansa exclaimed, flustered. She was wearing a dress, but Arya had showed her how to belt it, blousing some of the fabric above the belt to keep the hems above her feet. Arya took advantage of the distraction to whack her sister on the bum with the broad side of practice sword. Sansa yelped in surprise and turned to Arya with barely contained fury. "ARYA!"

"Lady Mormont, I'm honored to meet you. I've heard so much about you!" Arya exclaimed and curtsied. The curtsy was so incongruent with Arya's appearance. She was wearing boots, trousers and a tunic. It was a compromise she'd made with Sansa: She would wear what she liked for training and a proper dress the rest of the day (at least until Sansa could come up with "lady-like" trousers that would be appropriate outside of sparring.) Her hair was a mess, falling out of its braid and sticking out wildly. Arya had a streak of dirt on her face.

Leanna approached. She looked taller than she was, and quite grand in her fur-collared cloak. She raised an eyebrow. "What have you heard?"

"That you're a fierce enemy and a valuable friend," Arya replied.

The tiniest smile appeared on Leanna's face for the briefest moment, then she turned to Sansa. "Are you sure this is her? I heard she was in Bravos, but my advisors tell me in Bravos there're some who can change their faces."

Arya's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Oh, I'm sure," Sansa assured Leanna with a laugh. "She's my sister to the core. I'll prove it. Arya, what were you afraid of as a little girl?"

"Nothing!" She sighed, then admitted, "Thunderstorms."

Jon and Gendry arrived in the courtyard, trailed by the men of the house. They'd been training with the men of Winter Town but dropped the training to welcome the representatives of Bear Island.

"And in thunderstorms, what would you do?"

Arya glowered at her sister. "I'd go to Jon and ask to stay with him. He'd remind me that my mother wouldn't like it and bring me back to my room, but he'd sit by my side until I fell asleep."

"Aw!" a chorus of women proclaimed and the King in the North blushed to the roots of his hair. Then Lady Mormont did something shocking: she giggled.

"Lady Mormont, welcome," Jon said, bowing over her hand. "May I introduce my brother-in-law, Gendry Baratheon? Gendry, this is Lady Leanna Mormont, head of Bear Island."

"It's an honor, milady."

She raised an eyebrow at his lowborn accent. "I thought there were no more Baratheons."

"So did Queen Cersei," Gendry replied. "Lady Mormont, I have a gift for you. Please excuse me while I get it."

Leanna looked skeptical, fearing that it would be something embarrassing and useless, like a doll. He returned with a large man in a leather apron, carrying a scabbard. When they reached Leanna, he drew the sword from the scabbard. It was a sword, just like those the men of her island carried, but the perfect size for her. The hilt was a bear's head. Again, she graced the group with a rare, brief flash of a smile.

"Lady Leanna, I would love to teach you to use it," Arya said.

Leanna frowned. "What makes you think I don't know how? I'm a Bear Islander! Of course I know how to fight. My men said I was too small for a proper sword, but this?" She reached out to take it and feel the balance. She tested it in a few passes and gave a tiny smirk of satisfaction. "It is a fine sword," she told Mikken. Gendry smiled, relieved that the fierce young woman had appreciated his offering. Leanna fixed her steely gaze on him. "Are you going to do away with the usurper who took your father's throne?"

Gendry's jaw dropped momentarily, then stammered, "I…I handn't planned on it."

"Too bad," Leanna said. "I was starting to like you."

Arya burst into laughter and exclaimed, "Lady Mormont, do you care to spar?

* * *

AN: I love Leanna Mormont SO MUCH! Remember, reviews=fuel!


	19. Chapter 19

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's a short one. Sorry! Also, I have a stand-alone in the same universe as this story, called The Lion and the Wolf, about the reunion of Sansa and Tyrion at Winterfel. Feel free to check it out. I'm might do a Daenerys and Jon stand-alone, too...or weave it into this one? I haven't decided.**

* * *

 ****Arya hadn't has so much fun sparring since her lessons with Syrio Fyrell. Lyanna wasn't as skillful as the Dancing Master, nor as strong and skilled as Jon, but her bold fighting style combined with speed was so enjoyable that it truly felt like dancing. They were about the same size, too, which made it more interesting. Lady Mormont's face was difficult to read—generally blank with just the slightest occasional eyebrow movement. The giggle in the courtyard had truly been an anomaly. Arya couldn't anticipate the young woman's moves, nor could she tell if the girl was tiring. The fight ranged through the courtyard as Arya's Army, Jon's troupes and Lyanna's retinue watched, cheering and yelling out suggestions.

The fight lasted longer than the traditional hostess in Sansa could stand. She had to find a way to stop this and give her visitors bread and salt, then a place to rest and change. She needed to make sure all was in line for the welcome dinner. She needed to stop this ridiculous duel before either young woman's pride turned it from a sparring match to an actual grudge. But how?

She strode over to her brother's side, nudged him and whispered, "Declare a draw."

He looked at her, puzzled. "What?"

Sansa sighed. "Declare a draw! We have duties as hosts to fulfill. We have strategies to discuss. Neither of them will give in, and we don't have time to nurse hurt pride. SO DECLARE A DRAW. Please."

Jon squinted at the women, who were putting on the most interesting display of swordsmanship he'd seen in recent memory. He wanted to see who would win. Part of him wanted Lady Lyanna to win and put Arya in her place. But he could see that the mirth present early on had faded from their faces. They wouldn't appreciate his interference…nor would the crowd. He looked at the sky, which promised snow any moment. He briefly remembered how a dragon's wings block out the sun…how they didn't seem to mind the cold, and how their bodies would melt the snow around where they rested. When the dragons departed, wildlife flocked to the area to eat the newly exposed grass, and...

"Jon!" Sansa snapped.

"IT'S A DRAW!" Jon bellowed in his battlefield roar. "GOOD SHOW!"

The combatants were shocked and froze with their blades in the air, then lowered them. There was some grumbling from the crowd. But few of them had ever heard the King in the North raise his voice outside of combat. Jon began to clap, and the others joined in.

The women lowered their weapons, and Sansa surged forward with Jon on her arm. "Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but there are certain duties…"

"I should have know this was you," Arya grumbled. "It was just getting good!"

"I think they're coming," Jon blurted, sounding puzzled.

"Who?" Sansa asked.

"Queen Daenerys and the dragons."


	20. Chapter 20

In her dream, Arya had a plan. Daenerys' forces had drawn most of Cersei's forces away from King's Landing. Long ago, she had navigated the tunnels under the castle as skillfully as the castle's cats. When she had fled years ago, she'd panicked and gotten lost out of fear, but this time she wouldn't panic.

She would wear the other girl's face, sneak through the tunnels and cut the Mountain's throat while he slept with no more remorse that the Mountain had felt as he tortured the prisoners of Harrenhall. Not only would she feel no remorse, but part of her regretted that she would not have time to truly avenge the hurt Gregor Clegane had caused.

After dispatching the Mountain, she would take out the queen. She would pretend to be a new maid, sneak into her chamber, and cut her throat. Again, part of her wished she could give Cersei what she truly deserved: to be burned alive by wildfire, as she had done to so many others.

She would do it for the good of Westeros. Winter was here, and the White Walkers were coming. There was no time for stupid battles between realms of men. Cersei would die. The Martells and Tyrells would be greatful. The Tullys would no longer be Lannister puppets. Tyrion could be Lord of the Lannister lands. Jon and the Dragon Queen would rule, and every man, woman and child in the kingdom would join to tell the god of death, "Not today." It wasn't about vengeance. It wasn't.

She reached a road that stretched north and south. Somehow, by the side of the road was the tree that she'd rested under just before crossing the gates into Winterfell. A raven swooped down and landed on a low branch. The raven looked strange, and it took a moment for Arya to spot the third eye on the bird's forehead. It opened its mouth, but instead of cawing said, "Arya." The voice was both familiar and new. "Arya, you're leaving Gendry?"

"I'm _saving_ Gendry! I'm saving everyone. Once I complete my list, they'll all be safe."

"The faces of the Great Hall are for no one. When they are worn by someone, they are as good as poison." The words were those of Jaqen H'ghar, but the voice reminded Arya of her brother, Bran. "I thought you had decided to stop serving the god of death."

"I serve Winterfell. I serve The North. I serve Westeros!" Arya proclaimed.

"You serve your list. You serve vengeance. Leave it to the Dragon Queen. The Starks will have trouble enough keeping her from becoming like her father. They don't need to worry about you, too. Join together. Release your old enemies. Fight for life."

"I don't know how to let it go," Arya admitted. Then she felt a presence behind her. It was Nymeria, her pack spread behind her. The wolf came close to Arya, opened its jaws and swallowed her whole.


	21. Chapter 21

The Dragon Queen did not arrive the next day. Instead, the Starks received a raven bearing two strips of parchment—one for Jon and one for Sansa. The master of the rookery brought the slips to Jon's study, where a few trusted advisors gathered. He gave Sansa her scroll discretely, as was their habit. Only the sharpest, most focused eyes would have noticed her receiving it and secreting it in a pocket hidden inside her long, draped sleeves.

Jon sat at the head of the table, a sister seated to each side of him. Gendry sat beside Arya, and Ser Davos sat between Sansa and Lady Mormont. Littlefinger leaned against a wall behind the empty chair beside Gendry. From his spot, he could be a fly on the wall—oft forgotten, but able to observe all. Sansa could feel his eyes on her.

Jon read his missive silently, then aloud. It succinctly told of how Daenerys, her men and the Greyjoys had retaken the Tully lands, the Lannister lands and Dragonstone. "…The Tyrells pledge themselves to me. We are in negotiation with Dorne. Please come to Dragonstone immediately. We will send a ship to White Harbor. Blessings on the return of your sister Arya and her husband. We request the presense of Lord Baratheon, as well." Following the missive was her name written in a lovely but unadorned script.

"Gendry? Why does she want to see Gendry?" Arya asked, a bit panicked.

It was Little Finger who spoke, languidly straightening from the wall and approaching the table. "Perhaps because he has the best claim to Storms End, but more likely because he's a Targaryen."

"What?" Gendry asked. "Strange enough to find that I'm a king's bastard…but now you tell me I've got dragon blood?"

"He's right," Sansa said. "The Septa tought us about it. Aegon V's daughter Rhaelle—she would be Daenerys' great aunt— married Ormund Baratheon. So, Gendry, that would make Aegon V Targaryen your great-great-grandfather."

Gendry looked stunned.

"This makes me wish I'd paid more attention in our lessons," Arya mused. "I only listened to the parts that were about battles and monsters and dragons."

"Don't feel too bad. Old Nan's stories are turning out to be more valuable than we thought," Jon rasped with a little laugh.

"I don't know this dragon queen," Lyanna said, "House Mormont knows no regent but the King in the North whose name is Stark."

"She has proposed marriage," Jon said. "If we marry, she will be my queen, and my queen is yours."

"I've heard she's very beautiful," Lyanna said with a little snear. "I hope you're not swayed by a pretty face."

Ser Davos had to clear his throat so as not to laugh. "Lady Mormont, though the Dragon Queen is quite lovely, she's also shrewd and just. In but a few years, Queen Daenerys has freed slaves and amassed a sizeable army and an armada of ships, and it was not by use of dragons alone. Also, in exchange for Jon marrying her, she has agreed to give the North the traditional…loose hold it has had for generations."

Lyanna Mormont considered this and gave a small nod.

"This queen…you trust her with Gendry?" Arya asked.

Jon thought about it seriously. "I do. And I'll be with him. If she harms him, she loses the North. She could take this land by force, but what she needs is the support of its people."

Arya nodded. "Okay, but I'm coming, too."

"And Lady Sansa can be Wardeness of the North in your absense," Petyr Baelish fairly purred.

"Sansa?" Jon asked, looking in her direction.

"I would do so proudly."

Jon nodded. "Lady Mormont, Ser Davos, I ask that you serve as her advisors. I will inform Tormund Giantsbane and the wildlings of where I'm going and why. If you treat The Free Folk with respect, they will work with you to protect the North." The group dispersed. Sansa walked down a hall toward the kitchens to consult with the cook about the next meal when she felt a hand grip her wrist. She nearly screamed as she was pulled into an alcove.

"What did he give you?" Baelish seethed in a raspy whisper. "A love letter from the half-man?"

"No!" Sansa protested, trying to wrench her arm from his grip.

"Himself then? The master of ravens is quite handsome, but I can't imagine you enjoying the touch of a man who smells like bird droppings."

"What? You're crazy!" Sansa fought as hard as she could not to shake or cry. She mind raced to find a lie, but she chose a half-truth instead. "Brienne of Tarth should have returned some time ago. I sent out ravens looking for her." All of it was true, but the slip the master of ravens had given her was not regarding this mission.

"Brienne of Tarth?" Petyr was so surprised that he released her. "Why the secrecy?"

"There's something strange between her and Jaime Lanister. Maybe she serves him now, instead of me. I don't wish to dishonor her. I just want to be sure that she's safe; I owe her my life."

He squinted at her, then said, "I'll find her for you, Sansa, discretely. You should know by now that you can trust me." Then he walked away.

Sansa rushed to the nearest hearth, read the notes a few times to secure it in her memory, then threw it in the fire.


	22. Chapter 22

"Gendry!" He was climbing the stairs at a quick clip, and Arya chased after him, up the stairs and into their room. "Gendry, are you okay?" He sat on the bed with his head in his hands. She knelt before him.

"My whole life, I was just some bastard. Gendry Rivers, the blacksmith's apprentice. I could take pride in just one thing: I worked for the best armor in King's Landing, and I made beautiful armor."

"I remember. That bull's head helmet was beautiful," Arya agreed.

"And then the hand of the king came. And when he died, your father came. And then I was headed to The Wall. One day, that crazy Red Woman appeared, and everything changed. She told me who my father was—that he was the reason I was strong and a good fighter. 'There is power in a king's blood.'"

"You will make kings rise and fall," Arya recalled.

"It seemed strange to me that just having Robert Barratheon, the Rebel King, as my father would make such a difference, but Targaryen blood? She took me to Stannis Baratheon at Dragonstone." He told his wife of the room full of candles and braziers. How Melissandre had given him wine and teased him that he was afraid he'd have to pay for every bite. And hadn't he had to pay for it in the end? He couldn't look her in the eye, and his muscles clenched as he admitted all that happened after, from the bed to the leaches thrown in the fire with Stannis Baratheon assigning each a cursed name: "The Usurper Rob Stark. The Usurper Balon Greyjoy. The Usurper Joffrey Baratheon."

"You didn't kill them." He nodded, but he wouldn't look Arya in the eye. "I don't care what that witch said! Rob was murdered by the Freys. Rumor has it, Balon Greyjoy was murdered by his brother. And Joffrey was poisoned. You did none of those things."

He grabbed his wife in a grateful hug and buried his face in her brown hair, which was just long enough now to brush her shoulders. His arms were like bands of steel, and Arya realized just how strong he was, and how careful he had always been with her—excepting one time on the run from King's Landing when they'd been stopped at Acorn Hall. Gendry had been teasing Arya, and they'd somehow gotten into a full-tilt wrestling match. At the end, they'd been covered in dirt and she'd had a torn sleeve.

"Want to wrestle? Just don't tear my sleeve this time, or you'll have to answer to Sansa." Gendry had been on the verge of tears, but burst into laughter at that, kissed his wife deeply and pulled her tighter. He tickled Arya and she responded by elbowing him in the gut.

Sansa walked by their room and smiled when she heard through their closed door the laughter of a happy couple in love.

* * *

Arya stood on a small stool as Sansa circled her, putting finishing touches on a gown. It was the nicest Arya would take on her journey: blue-gray with subtle silver wolves embroidered on the bodice and narrow borders of stylized gold stag-horns embroidered along the edges of her sleeves and neckline.

With the help of Mara and some of the other maids, Sansa had also completed a warm cloak lined in gray fur, a few simple sheaths in Arya's favorite shades of blue, green and brown, some neutral gathered-neck blouses Northern women had worn for generations, and the fitted gown-bodice with a long peplum that she'd first envisioned for her sister to use with breeches. During their sparring matches, Sansa had realized that her sister would never wear the number of layers Sansa had originally planned for the sake of tradition and dignity, as it would slow her down too much. Sansa then made Arya a knee-length brown leather jacket much like Jon's, but tailored to Arya's small frame, and brown leather breeches.

"So many clothes!" Arya exclaimed, looking a the trunk they were filling with garments. She had to smile, though, at the thought of her new breeches—the finest she'd ever had.

"You had far more when we were girls," Sansa said.

"I know, but it hasn't been that way in a long time."

Arya had initially been wary at the prospect of being at her sister's mercy regarding clothing, but her time at the House of Black and White and her time with Lady Crane had taught her the value of a good costume. Besides, Sansa had a gift for creating garments that were warm, comfortable and easy to move in. Some of them were quite pretty, as well, though that wasn't as important to Arya. "Thank you, Sansa. I know how hard you worked. Are you upset that we're leaving and you're staying?"

"This is where I feel safest," Sansa said. "If I had my way, I don't think I'd ever leave Winterfell again." Arya nodded, but was a bit sad remembering how Sansa had once thirsted to travel and see all the beautiful, glamorous places the world had to offer.

"How is Gendry coping with the news?" Sansa asked.

"He seems to be adjusting." "A bit stunned, but he says he's used to learning strange things about himself. He told me a really sad story, actually. We were separated years ago when the Red Woman took him. She used his blood to curse people, including Robb. He's felt bad about it ever since. I told him it wasn't his fault. The Freys were horrible long before that witch cast her curse."

"I don't know how to feel about that woman. She saved Jon's life, but she burned an innocent little girl alive because she thought it would bring victory in battle."

"If you don't want to come, then why do you seem so sad?"

"I just got you and Jon back. Things don't tend to go well for Starks when we're separated.

 **'** When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.'"

"You have a point," Arya agreed. "But when the dragon queen calls…" Arya studied her sister's face. "Will you be okay here without us? With _Littlefinger_? I wish he would leave. I've never trusted him, not even when we were children, and…"

"Petyr Baelish," Sansa whispered. "Don't ever let him hear you call him 'Littlefinger.' Lord Baelish is a powerful friend and a dangerous enemy. He must believe we are on the same side."

"And you think he'll be content to _remain_ at the side?"

"No, but for now, what choice do we have? We need the Knights of the Vale. I won't be able to hold The North alone. But can I tell you a secret?"

Arya raised an eyebrow but said, "Of course."

Sansa took a moment to examine the room, making sure no one was listening from the hall or hidded in a nook or cranny of the room. She felt a bit mad for doing so, but couldn't risk it. Meanwhile, Arya shimmied out of the completed dress and hung it in a wardrobe, then slipped into the jerkin, tunic and black trousers she generally used for sparring practice. Her hair was barely short enough to plait well, so changing so quickly had resulted in strands escaping the braid to stick up around her face.

"I received a letter from Tyrion Lannister." Arya's eyes widened, but she didn't speak. "You know he was my husband, but what I never told you is…he was good to me. Kind. We never even…"

Arya nodded her understanding.

"Before I married Tyrion, I was so upset because of the way he looked and all the terrible things people called him: the half-man, the imp. When I met Ramsey, on the other hand… it's hard to believe now, but the first time I saw Ramsey I found him handsome. He had lovely eyes and a velvety voice. Later, I came to know how cold his eyes could be, and how poisonous his words. He was a monster, truly. Ever since, I don't feel comfortable around most men. Jon is alright, of course. Ser Davos reminds me of father. But most men?" She shook her head. "They don't have to do anything wrong and I start to shake. I'm no coward, so it makes me so angry. But it isn't like that with Tyrion. He could have done anything to me back then, but he protected me. He's quite witty, too. Funny... and good-looking."

"Really?" Arya exclaimed in a teasing tone.

"Shhh!" Sansa whispered. "In his letter, he said that he is Lord of Casterly Rock again. The mines are nearly out of gold, but during the battle they discovered that a local stone turns to dragonglass when touched by dragonfire. That means he'll have money and power, too. It's a valuable alliance."

Arya's jaw dropped. "Are you saying…"

"Arya!" Sansa again admonished her sister for being too loud.

Arya rolled her eyes but whispered into her sister's ear, "Are you saying you want to marry Tyrion Lannister?"

Sansa smirked and whispered, "I believe I am."


End file.
